floating and leaving no trace
i close my eyes
and the world
spins backwards
maybe five seconds
i hear the goodbye
again
the “eye” syllable
in the air
impossibly physical
bricklike
solid and hot
i close my eyes again
longer
and when i open them
you haven’t said goodbye
not yet
but your lips part
i shut my eyes
but even if i hold them closed
before i was conceived
before my cell split
for the first time
it would do no good
you never said goodbye
after all
it wasn’t a word you knew
this poem was going to
be about me, a really good one
i could feel it in my teeth
the way they ground together
edge to edge, a squeak
before shattering
close so close
if i could remember a word
just one word
i could piece it together
water the seed
watch it grow
i’d never have to write again
because after i put that to paper
what else
what more could i
have to add
walking in a land
where i am not heard
i cannot hear the words
of the army of deaf mutes
only the popping
of gristle as they work their
jaws like meat grinders
or am i the one
who makes no sound
and cannot receive
a benediction
the whistling
of the wind in the birches
i have forgotten my coat
again
we crawled from the sea
not to be better
but to escape
the insatiable maw
consume consume consume
its waves wail
all it ever wants
is to eat us alive
and turn us into shards
of coral
washing up
on dead shores
i am sewn into a beaver pelt
and set adrift in the river
i hear the rocks split the water
though only darkness feeds my
starving sense of sight’s appetite
i feel them drag along my back
these jagged river stones
not yet worn down, splitting the water
though only darkness feeds my
starving sense of sight’s appetite
no longer enough air to breathe
the stench of game hide and water fills my lungs
bruised, i flail, splitting the water
though finally darkness satiates my
starving sense of sight’s appetite
——
Hello, everyone! It’s March 21, and that means we have just ten days left until April. We’re getting close to NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo now! As you gear up for April, remember that NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo isn’t the only thing going on! April is National Poetry Month, and there are a lot of ways to celebrate. You can sign up…
when i read that he had died
i was surprised more than anything
not that he had died
but that he had lived
he learned
when he was handed
that death sentence
knowing the next red light
would be the last stop
on the drive
so he threw himself
completely into his life
without the cushion of
random how
left with only when
as the remaining question
the map is not
the territory
or so they say
but drive a pin
into a point not blue
and everyone there sees
descending from the heavens
like some silver judgment
of divine origin
a javelin as big
as a city block
entering the earth
like a rough boyfriend
with about as much foreplay
opening the ground
breaking the waterlines
and gas mains
demolishing city squares
and family picnics
and political rallies
and games of frisbee golf
and hippies making out
and dog runs (hopefully the dogs
are smart enough to run for it
suck it you hippies)
we would have to redraw the maps
and not leave the dragons in the
corners or at the edges
spread those flames and scales
across the face of the earth
but this is already the case
we walk and i place my
hands through you
as if you are a column of smoke
after all, blues skies are just
an effect of
rayleigh scattering
i’m waiting for a hologram
of you that is more
solid, fleshy and yielding
i want to see my fingers
sink into your skin
i want to make shadows on you
passing by fenced homes
i draw in the smell of fire
five years old again
Words and Feathers 